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e l m o s o l y o d n i

[Hungarian]: A kind of smile that forms when something isn't especially funny, but you can't help but smile anyway.

IT WAS A lot to absorb, and a lot to feel. The early morning air was tinged with a frigidity that almost surpassed the borders of normal. Not around this time of year, at least. As for the sun, she still kept her presence hidden, no signs of her showing up yet. And so I only sat on the hard concrete; eyes down, fists loosened, and feet planted straight ahead of me.

Suddenly, Brian's shoes dragged against the asphalt, the sudden sound cutting through the relative silence like acrylic nails dragging down a chalkboard.

"Feel any better?"

His voice was low, albeit a little raspy, but just as effective. I bit my lip and gave a slow nod.

"Hmm," I murmured, teeth nibbling on the inside of my cheek. "I'm sorry about—well, about all of that."

From the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head.

"Don't apologize."

And the air went still between us again, only the whizz of the occasional vehicle passing by signifying movement—existence. The street lights were still bright, and the weather still lit with diurnal energy. But this was softer, quieter. The kind you could push into the background. Rare strangers made their way back home, or wherever else they seemed to be going; some stumbling (courtesy The Nocturne), others cogent, and quite frankly, all of us subdued and heavy-lidded with the aftermaths of midnight heroin.

It was all still alive. Still alive, somehow. Like it always was.

"What happened?" he finally asked, the question putting itself out there with expected curiosity, and maybe even intrigue. But then, Brian's tone turned more hesitant. "I'm sorry. Wanna talk about it?"

No.

Maybe?

"It's not worth it," was what I settled for in the end. My index finger kept drawing slow circles on the curb, mind a little foggy as Brian's slow breathing filtered through my ears, his dazedly sinful scent invading my nostrils.

We must have made quite the sight, sitting on the pavement like this.

"Cassidy," he called out, "I literally just watched you almost get yourself killed."

"But I didn't," I told him. My voice grew hard at that, the effect on even myself as harsh and poignant as the smell of cheap nail polish. "And I wasn't trying to. Trust me, if I was suicidal, I'd do it right."

He was fully staring at me now, and under normal circumstances, I would have felt uncomfortable or clawed at under the usual intensity of his gaze. But this time around, all that made it out of me was a small chuckle. I nudged his thigh with mine.

"Calm down. I promise I'm not a maniac."

Brian only let out a rueful sigh. "No. You're just crazy."

"It's April tenth," I announced out of the blue, my focus shifting upwards to the nearly bare sky. Only a sparse number of scattered dots illuminated the canvas of dark velvet, some glittering more than the others. Some more adorned. Just like they always were. "I actually just realized—it's April tenth."

His brow arched. "Something going on today?"

I only shut my eyes and pulled my knees up, now nuzzling my face in the space between them. "Mhm. Take us back sixteen years, and my mom dies today."

In all honesty, I actually forgot what the day was; what the week was. But it all made sense now. The hole in my chest feeling even emptier than usual, my moods fluctuating between blazing hot and numbing cold. The longing. Even if my mind failed, my body always remembered. Always knew that something left this day, leaving such a magnitude of a void behind, nothing could dare try to fill it.

"Oh," Brian mouthed, his demeanor softening, "I'm really sorry."

I waved him off, the sound of my voice still muffled from my bent position. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"Do you want to—" he started, but his words seemed to lose themselves in the bleak morning air. "I mean, do you want to talk about her? Some people like that. I think it helps."

I snorted, and figured the sound more resembled that of a grunting pig considering the circumstances. "Like I said, not worth it," I told him, raising my head as I turned his way instead. "You tell me what brings you here. Are you a regular at The Nocturne?"

Brian scoffed at that. "Yeah, not really," he answered, "but every once in a while I need to get out. It's also a good front for business partners when they feel the office tension's too thick. Sometimes, they prefer talking about money matters and complex deals underneath dim lights, and over overly expensive rum."

I shot him a cool look, a tiny smile tugging on the corners of my mouth.

"You got something against dim lights and overpriced rum?"

At that, Brian eased back. "Oh, I'm more than fine with office tension. Helps quicken the process."

Once I sighed and planted my chin on my palm, he stared ahead with his own small smile.

"I know. I'm pretty boring."

"I actually think you're just fine," I said without missing a beat, and almost cursed myself for sputtering the words out so quickly. I waited a few seconds, tucking my hair behind my ear before adding, "Spontaneity and all that excitement is overrated, anyway...Plus you smell like a lot of fun right now, and in your own way, you're even funny."

I couldn't tell if he was exactly flustered or not, especially with his usually more passive expressions, but he looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to my face.

"Funny, huh? I'm actually known for being quite the opposite. I'm horrible at telling jokes," he told me, and then his nose scrunched up, features schooled into more of a grimace as he most likely recalled a memory. "Once, I tried telling this new joke I was so proud of to this girl. I think I was about ten at the time. Safe to say, she never spoke to me again. And told her friends to never speak to me again."

I couldn't help it when I burst out laughing, and Brian rolled his eyes at me, suppressed amusement lurking around their corners.

"Ouch." I sucked in a short breath amidst my snickering, and then bumped his foot with mine. "Come on, tell it to me."

"There's literally no way."

"Please, please, please, please—"

"Good Lord, fine." Heaving a sigh, he shot me a pointed stare while he pulled his knees back. "It went something like this: 'hi, Kayla, guess what?' and then she said, 'what?' My moronic self high on new information went on: 'what's the difference between a dirty bus stop and a lobster with breast implants?' She, of course, had no idea what the hell I was on, and so I answered: 'One is a crusty bus station and the other is a busty crustacean.'"

I blinked. And it all went quiet.

But that was before the outburst.

"Oh my God—" I paused. "Oh my God, Brian—you did not." I stared at him as the ripples of laughter consumed me, lips spread apart and the crinkled corners of my eyes beginning to brim with moisture. I could nearly picture him, awkward and shy and so awfully proud of his new achievement, not knowing it would all blow up in his face in the end. It was sad, but funny. Just like the joke.

The laughs continued, but slowly, I felt something else begin to bubble beneath the surface. It was tactical poison, and in my own mind, I sounded more hysterical now, fighting the urge to just burst into tears and scream until my throat ached. Because it still hurt—Oh God, it hurt. It never stopped hurting.

"I did." His lip curled in disdain. "And it was terrible."

With a wide grin on my face, I wiped the stray tears from my eyes, silently hoping Brian would be oblivious and take it all in good fun. I sniffled as the aftermaths of my wild session dissipated like the bittersweet burn from good whiskey. It left me dry, but I tried to keep the frail hold I had on my composure intact. A single pull on this thread and it would all come undone quicker than I could say my own name.

"It's honestly so—so bad that it's good," I told him, burrowing my arms further into me. "And Kayla just didn't have a good sense of humor, anyway. That silence after a stellar, horrible joke? It's unmatched. Beats the urgency of the good ones every time."

"Who knew bad jokes could be so profound?"

With a scoff, I leaned back just like he had, my hands behind me, laying flat on the concrete now. I stared upwards, back to the sky with a tiny smile on my face as I shrugged. I was smiling a lot. "Hey, the risk might've blown up in your face, but at least you took it regardless. That's what matters. The bravery."

"Bravery or bravado?"

"For ten-year-old you, easily bravado." I chuckled. But then there was a deep intake of breath, a sigh escaping my mouth afterwards, so small even I might as well not have heard the sound. "I'm not big on taking risks."

Bravery, bravado. I had neither.

Silence ensued between us for a few moments, my skin prickling with newfound heat and a whirlpool of internal reprimands amidst the thickness of it all. I wanted to pinch myself all of a sudden; to jolt myself back to reality, somehow. Now you're talking a lot.

"You know, with grooming me for the business and everything surrounding that, I figured my first conversation about risk taking would come from my dad," Brian spoke unexpectedly, his voice factual, yet holding an almost wistful edge. "But my mom beat him to it. Her approach was much less technical, but it's the one I'll most likely grow old with."

My interest was piqued, and so I stayed quiet.

"It was simple, really," he continued. "She looked me in the eye and said: Brian, one day, you're going to have to make more difficult choices than choosing what to eat, or what sports to play. Someday, you'll have to make harder decisions all on your own. They might make you sweat, or make your stomach churn, but you're going to make them, anyway. So it's best to start getting ready."

I thought I saw a ghost of a grin tug at his lower lip, but like everything about him, it was too faint to figure out, and practically gone before it even came.

Still, his eyes seemed somewhat glazed; a faraway sheen in his gaze. This was a first. Usually, it was always Brian listening while I told him the meagre facets of myself I could hold on to, or afford to share. But this time, it was different. Almost beautifully so—the gentle chipping away at his outer layers, as he finally thought to share something from within.

"I was about seven, so I had no idea what she was talking about," he said to me, "but that didn't stop her. She told me risks are like a myriad of fog-surrounded cliffs. Sometimes they seem to come at once, and other times, one by one. You'll never want to jump because you'll never want to fall, and I won't want you to either. But the thing is, you're going to fall no matter what. So you've just got to choose those cliffs that whisper to you they've got water down there, and not dry land. And when you trust them, then you jump.

Now, they may lie, because nothing's for sure. But even if you do meet hard ground, you'll know you were brave. And if you end up meeting water—"

"You'll know you were brave."

He turned to me. "Exactly."

It was the most I'd ever heard Brian speak in one go, and the words went in my ear, registering themselves until they seeped into my bones. I was always afraid. Always so extremely cautious, and wary—aiming to be two steps ahead of the unexpected. Because I knew how it felt to be overtaken before I even got the chance to leap. Factually, I might have grown into a coward, but it didn't change the fact that sometimes, cowardice also meant survival.

I'd gambled with both sides of the coin, and decided the latter would be more sustainable in the long run. Even if it was a far less attractive title to bear.

But the words just didn't stop echoing through my mind. Like a cacophony of sounds spurring and spurring and spurring, taking advantage of this moment of weakness—of the fact that my metaphorical earplugs were off.

Listen, and then jump. You're brave either way. With or without the bruises to prove it in the end.

The next thought came so suddenly, it might as well have given me whiplash. But for the first time, I didn't think to rein in my tongue.

"Marrying you. That's a risk that breaks borders."

I heard Brian's intake of breath, and the air between us felt ten times thicker. It was the elephant in the room, or in this case, in the open, and I'd finally pulled on it's tail.

"Cassidy," he said lowly, "I'm honestly really sorry. It was foolish of me to bring it up, and I didn't mean to disrespect you the way I did."

"You did disrespect me."

"I know. Please just forget I said—"

"You did disrespect me then—" I cocked my head to the side, slowly and apprehensively placing a hand over his. It felt weird and awkward—a brave move from a coward at best, but I was compelled to leave it there. To assure myself it was okay. That I could do this, too. "But you're also not letting me speak now."

At that, his mouth quickly shut close, an apologetic look washing over his face.

"I'm sorry." He nodded once. "Please continue."

"As I was saying, marrying you is an absurd idea. Farce or not, I honestly don't know how it would occur to you to ask me that," I told him. "Long story short, when you brought it up, I felt insulted. And like you'd been using me all this time. However short or long it seems to you. Whatever those few lunch meetings meant to you."

Brian's stare was unwavering, and I could practically smell hints of the approaching dawn between us now.

"But marrying you—it's a risk."

"I know," he said once he sensed I was done, or perhaps he was trying to rescue me before my thoughts went haywire. "But it's one I don't want you to take. I was desperate then, my mind's clearer now. You shouldn't do it."

I looked at him, long and hard, and noticed the faint worry lines creasing his forehead, appearing every so often because he just always, always seemed to be thinking. His lips were straight, focused eyes burdened with dark circles. Even now, and like that day at the restaurant, nothing but his frustration and utter exhaustion stared back at me in his place.

You're still desperate.

"Mean it, then." Once his brow arched in confusion, I cut to the chase and asked, "Brian, have you found someone else yet?"

He remained silent for about a second too long, before he raked a hand through his hair.

"Well, no. Not yet," he admitted. "But soon. I'm working on it, and I'll just need to—"

"I'll think about it," I blurted.

Dammit.

His face paled. "What?"

Acting like I knew what on earth I was doing, and summoning the stable energy I didn't have, I tucked my knees to my chest. "I said I'll think about it," I said. "See if your cliff whispers, and I trust it."

He looked like I just told him I was a secret assassin, and although the shift in his demeanor wasn't overwhelming—it hardly ever was—I thought to clear things up a little. Even though I was equally just making more of a mess of the entire situation.

"I'm not saying yes. Don't think too far, it's not a yes," I told him. "It's a maybe. But you have to let me know whether or not I should be thinking at all, and put your sentiments aside. I'm lucid."

Brian took a hard swallow, and I could literally hear his Adam's apple bob. The tension had built to such a scorching crescendo, it nipped at skin. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

But concession.

Just as I expected.

"Alright," he finally said, "Alright, think about it. But I'll let you know to the letter the complications of the decision you're making. You can't do this on a whim, and certainly not based on my mother's nearly twenty-year-old speech, Cassidy."

I smiled at him. But it was only half sincere.

"I know."

He was on edge, and it was as clear as day. But the truth was we were both tethering. Him, on a tightrope; on the left side, his chance to finally secure the goal he'd worked towards nearly all his life, and on the right, the fact that he'd be using me to get it all. A woman he barely knew, but somehow knew enough to trust.

And as for me, my feet were all but quaking on nothing but a thin, silver thread of faith. On the left, the fact that this could all blow up in my face and I'd be left the coward who should've never chose bravery—or in this case, idiocy. And on the right, the feeling that I could finally, finally be doing something for me. Something for Gabby, even though she didn't need to know the technicalities. Not initially, at least.

Because whether I liked it or not, a jump was a jump and a fall was a fall. You could be brave either way, but where dry ground meant bruises, there was a very slim margin separating the people who'd call them battle scars or fool's scabs.

I let out a tired yawn, and instinctively rubbed my eyes. My mind had been pulled in all directions the past night (and morning), and whereas my thoughts had been burning like wildfire, at this point, my body was pure lead.

"Come on," Brian said to me, "let's get you home."

Rising to his feet, I watched him clasp his fingers together as he stretched both his arms, and then extended his palm to me. I took it without hesitation.

Everything else seemed to condescend into a blur; the car door shutting close; the click of seat belts being locked into place; the feeling of fabric being draped over my body, and the calming sense of finally heading home.

__________

"This is me," I whispered, halting in front of the apartment door with Brian's looming figure behind me. My senses were still lulled with sleep, but my eyelids kept themselves cracked open, fingers haphazardly digging into my pockets for the key.

As soon as the door creaked open, I turned to him, and slightly tilted my head.

"Thank you," I murmured, "for everything."

He nodded. "Get some sleep."

I indulged in watching him retreat for a few seconds, before heading in and locking the door behind me. The lights came on immediately, and my heartbeats instinctively raced out of mild shock, but I already had an idea what to expect once I fully turned around.

Gabby was in her woolen pajama pants, short brown hair in a nest, and her loose white shirt hanging on her frame as she clutched her cellphone in one hand. My dead one was tucked in my pocket, only serving as a reminder of just how much I'd messed up. My best friend's green eyes were dull and heavy-lidded, lit with suppressed anger, worry—maybe even tear tracks.

But I didn't miss the slight slump of her shoulders as soon as she saw me.

"You don't pull shit like this," she spoke up, voice worn out and hoarse. "You don't. Ever."

I bit my lip, guilt washing over me like a tidal wave. "I know." Once her only response was a draining sigh, I added, "You've got the morning shift today. Let's get you to bed, 'kay?"

With an incorrigible response from Gabby, we ended up on her bed, her body angled away from me as I slowly ran my fingers through her hair. She didn't tell me to bug off, so that was a promising sign, and within a few minutes, she was out like a light. Just like I knew she would be.

The day was beginning, and for me, it felt that way in more ways than one as I stayed with my back pressed against the mattress; mind reeling, heart racing and a foreign adrenaline pulsing through my veins despite the numbing exhaustion. I didn't know for just how long I stayed frozen there, memories and doubts and dreams swirling through my mind while my eyes remained wide open.

The tears hit the pillow one by one.

Next thing I knew, it had grown bright outside, virgin sunlight filtering through the blinds and into the small room, casting tender rays as if to say good morning, sleepless angel. I'm here. I'm here, anyway.

It was a brand new day, and I felt like the corpse bride. But to be honest, I was more than fine with that.